


Prompt dump

by PolarGrizz47



Series: PoI Prompts [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Blood Play, Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M, lots of random, wounded bear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-22 14:55:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PolarGrizz47/pseuds/PolarGrizz47
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So these are a few of the the Three Paragraph PoI prompts Ive filled! I still have some more to do, so I'll update this later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Quiet

**Author's Note:**

> I left the prompters names out, didn't know if they wanted it public or not. Please enjoy.

Leon tried to keep himself as quiet as a church mouse during a wedding, but a part of him wants to be loud. Wants Fusco’s son to hear them rutting like animals in the next room with the paper thin walls and small quarters. The detective could see that mischievous look; it had burning deep in Leon’s eyes ever since he’d shown up at 12 am on his doorstep, looking wanton and sad. Clearly it was the detective’s job to become a personal ‘pick me up.’ His son was already curled up asleep, they had watched an old western together before Leon showed up, thankfully, and by that time his boy was fast sleep in the spar room.

“Don’t you e-even thing about it.” Lionel narrows his eyes, panting out each word with a sharp thrust, holding Leon open at the knees. Watching while the accountant licked his lips and squeezed at the blanket, closing his eyes with a grin. Taking no chances, the detective slapped a hand over the smaller man’s mouth, right before a needy moan bounced along the walls. “Oh, you asshole.” Lionel hissed, slamming forward and making Leon groan again, the warm breath washing over a large palm. He managed to keep the ecstatic sounds of pleasure to a minimum, watching as Leon squeezed his eyes shut, hissing between clenched teeth and arching his back just so. His cock bounced deeper inside, swelling more at the delectable image.

Leon grabbed at his shoulders, whimpering as his stomached quivered and his thighs clenched, making Fusco groan and jackknife. The thrusts became shaper, the bed’s frame lightly knocking against the wall three times before he came, filling the condom to the brim. Leon emptied out into his own yellow package, both men panting heavily now, Fusco removing his hand to allow better air flow. Leon gave him a lazy expression, hissing when the larger man pulled out, leaving him empty. He then proceeded to strip himself of the condom, pulling it off and tying it, Leon moving to do the same thing. Once done, he plopped onto the bed, sprawling out on his back and letting Leon crawl over, laying atop him quietly. “I’ll be gone in the morning, giving you enough time to,” He yawned, pressing a kiss to Fusco’s chest, “shower and take care of your kid.” Lionel nodded, running his hand up through the accountant’s damp locks, humming contently. Although both men froze half kiss when they heard the door opening and a very quiet, ‘ _Dad_?’


	2. Bloody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reversed Reese and Finch!

The operative emerged from the darkness like the murderer he was, gait slow and dangerous, Finch’s eyes tracked the clatter of a wrench. Bloodied. He dared not look at what lurked within the auto shops shadow’s, content to see his lovers work splattered all over his torn suit. John plucked the latex gloves off and folded them up nice and neat before slipping them into his pocket; they couldn’t risk being caught at this point. They both shared a quick look, Finch leaning forward on his cane with his lips curving up ever so slightly, there was always something about seeing a man bloody that made his own blood boil.

Finch takes his sweet time trailing a line of wet kisses up Reese’s leg, the library was still their greatest defense, a nice place to relax and take a load off… so to say. The taller man stays perfectly still, breathing balanced on the edge of a knife while Finch parted his shirt and kissed up his chest, fingers pushing in against his small belly, teasingly. There was a pause, pale eyes roaming over the tan skin of his collar bone, fingers reaching up to touch some drying articular blood splatter. The white shirt was stained, blood flecked along the chest where the black did little to hide the pristine color. Touching the spots with his finger and watching the blood smear across his pale skin. Reese made a strangled noise above him, grabbing his wrist and eyeing the blood.

Almost as if on cue, he leaned forward and gently licked the blood off, catching swift fingers with the tip of his teeth naturally. Finch tilts his head, giving the operative a critical look before grinning and nipping gently across parted thighs, dragging his hand back down and wiping blood all the way, creating odd markings across Reese’s skin possessively. John growls again, bucking up eagerly, right when Finch presses his teeth closer to the skin, biting for the blood underneath.


	3. Drink

Finch doesn’t really understand why Fusco offered to buy him a drink; the detective didn’t really seem to like him very much. But if there’s anything Finch has learned after all these years, is that people aren’t always what they appear to be. So he agrees, after sending Reese a quick text, one could never be too careful. In the bar he fidgets there uncomfortably, the lightest drink in hand and Fusco at his side. The detective isn’t saying much, just hunched over and working his drink over as if deep in thought. Finch hardly touches his drink.

The next time it happens, he indulges a little. Just enough to make his cheeks turn pink and a warm dizzy feeling to wrap around him. Lionel hammers his drink down without any resistance, not looking at all phased as he stands up and motions toward the door, it was getting late. Halfway through the parking lot Finch trips over an old beer can, Fusco’s arm shooting out on instinct and wrapping around his shoulders to haul him up and closer, steadying him. Harold can feel each warm breath, glasses fogging up a bit from the close proximity, and then he kisses Fusco. Both feel a sensation of confused panic, warm memories and jagged breathing-but Fusco pulls away first. “Finch,” He starts, but Harold tightens his hold on the jacket, pulling their lips together once more. The recluse is internally thrilled when Lionel hesitantly pushes against him, accepting it.

Three days past since that incident, Finch drowning in embarrassment while Fusco scratches his head and paces around the building, Carter watching his every move.  The detective was actually expecting never to hear of Finch again, but when he opens his door one late night to find the genius standing there like a deer in headlights, he figures a drink was in order. “I’m sorry,” Harold blabbers out, steeping inside the quaint little home quickly and bowing his head. Lionel laughs, a sharp and crisp sound, “No biggie.” He assures, leading Finch to the couch before he tipped over, letting the man sit. “No, Lionel, I _really_ am sorry, what I did…” He doesn’t get to finish because Fusco is tipping his jaw up, gently, and placing a chaste kiss on his lips. “Said it was fine, four eyes, “He ignores Harold’s astonished look. Later that evening, with Finch rocking with confusion, yet joy, Harold jumps him. Lionel certainly wasn’t expecting the billionaire to act so soon, figuring that he’d be a shy hard to heat up type of guy, but the way his trousers were being torn off certainly suggested otherwise. The detective is tossed between wanting to question the sudden rush and never letting it end, because for a man who only shots dry one liners off into Reese’s face all day, he could really put that mouth to _good_ use. Fingers grip surprisingly silky strands and continuously suppressing the urge to fuck up into Finch’s mouth, eyes watching while the other man deliberately stokes him a few times, dragging his tongue over Lionel’s tip and sucking kisses along his cock. “So, am I forgiven?” Finch says in this indulgent tone, raising his gaze just the slightest to watch as Lionel comes from such simple words.


	4. Snuggle

Lionel was pretty sure he’d never see the annoying, troublesome man again, but when Reese growls a dangerous address over the phone and hisses, “Hurry up with this one Lionel, I’m _busy_ ,” but Fusco can here the labored breathing on the other end. The detective learns to never take the silence for granted, ever again. Because Leon does not shut up, he’ll talk for hours if you let him. Chattering away like a cow on cud, or a kid on candy, nervously voicing ever little update. “S-sure is c-cold in he-here,” the accountant chided, sitting in his apartment in wet clothes and a fearless attitude. Like he didn’t just almost drown in a city lake about thirty minutes ago. Lionel has to take a deep breath to grab him a pair of dry clothes, the last thing he needed was a sick and whining Leon in his home for god knows how long.

So they sit like that, Leon’s horrendous suit in the dryer while he huddles at the other end of the couch in a ugly throw blanket Fusco had laying around while watching the bright colors flash off the television set. Later, when Lionel can finally stand looking at the man without wanting to punch Reese or Finch in the face, he noticed how pale Leon seemed. The subtle, constant shakes and rubbing of shoulders, dark circles marred under big brown eyes. Reaching over, the detective slipped a hand under the blanket to feel nothing but ice seeping up from the thin black shirt, Leon seemingly chilled to the bone. The smaller man puts up no fight as Lionel drags him closer, grabbing the blanket and pulling him straight into his chest. “I-I’m cold.” Leon slurs, sounding like someone who was suffering from lack of sleep-or perhaps just hypothermia. Fusco wraps his arms around the shivering body, rubbing a hand up and down his boney back and wrapping the blanket around him securely. It was awkward, he hardly knew the shady man and yet here they lay, pressed up against each other and letting warmth blossom between them, hands never ceasing the soothing motion.

“Yea, yea, I know.” Fusco growls almost, hoping his warmth would help ebb away the chill because there really wasn’t much he could do. It was autumn, and he only had an air conditioner, plus the bedroom wasn’t exactly clean. Which left Leon snuggled up against him, head tucked under chin and teeth clacking together from the shivers. After a while, Leon started to still, just lying there comfortably, arms folded up against his chest and legs folded criss-cross-apple sauce style. “Is that better?” Lionel asks, some of the annoyance leaving his tone because he really was worried, hypothermia was no joke. Back when he was a kid, one of his sisters friends froze to death up on the ski hill, the thought was terrifying. Leon lifted his head and just kinda nodded, looking out of it, but he didn’t feel very cold. Fusco let him stay pressed up against him, not even bothering to lay Leon down when the accountant had fallen asleep. The next day, Reese had casually asked him how things went with the smaller man, and Lionel punched him in the face. The operative groaning into his fist cupped with blood and Finch nearly laughing in his ear, “Well, Mister Reese, I take it things went well?”


	5. Wounded

Finch sat there with Bears head on his lap for hours, tucked up in the couch with Bear sprawled out over three cushions. His hand rhythmically flattened the dog’s ear with every brush, occasionally some spar hair would rain down from his winter coat. The dog whined and kept trying to lick at his paw, Harold doing his best to keep him still. “Are you almost done, Mister Reese?” He asked, trailing the tips of his fingers past Bears muzzle, working the hair back then down.

“Almost. I just have to wrap his paw, and hope he doesn’t chew it off. I’d hate to have to clean the cut out again.” Both grimaced the fit the war dog had thrown the moment the cleanser was applied. Grabbing some gauze, he began to wrap it snuggly along the dogs forearm, getting down to his paw and covering it at best able with the odd shape and fur in the way, Reese clipping it into place. “There.” Bear lifted his paw and immediately began to lick at the covering, sniffing it with wonder yet hate. “Bear, no.”  
 Reese sighed, scratching his dog behind the ears before leaning down to kiss Finch, the older man letting his lips quirk up.

“This is going to be a long night,” Harold mumbled, watching Bear try to peel the bandage off with his teeth in an annoyed fashion, and his heart went out to the loyal beast. “Oh, Bear…” He groaned, reaching over and pulling the dog’s head closer, kissing his nose. Reese nodded and packed up the first aid kit, chuckling because he’d never expected to use it on anyone but himself. Once that was done, he wandered back over, watching as Bear slipped off the couch and limped around awkwardly with the tape on his foot. Harold frowned and glanced at Reese with a questioning look, the operative sitting heavily beside him, “He’ll be fine. It’s just a little glass, it wasn’t very deep, Finch.” Reese answered the silence, Finch’s eyebrows shooting up at the ‘ _just a little glass’_ part. Bear kept licking at the gauze and trying to peel it off with a whimper, both men trying not to give in and remove the white tape, knowing Bear needed it for the ointment.


	6. Hotels

The hotel was pleasantly large; it had the tiniest details, like the mints on the pillows and little ceramic details on the light fixtures. Not like any other them were paying attention to those things, especially Fusco. Leon traced his fingers lovingly over the detectives back, kissing the back of his neck and rocking forward one last time, and the accountant could hear a groan from Fusco and Finch’s needy whine. Smirking, he pulled away with a wet sound, Lionel rocking forward on his elbows and trying to bite into the annoying ball gag both Finch and Leon had insisted on. Grunting, he turned and watched carefully while Leon flopped back and nudged the older man.

Finch awkwardly tried to get into the position, lifting onto his knees before hissing in pain and grabbing at his hip. Fusco had to smoother out his needy groan, he knew Harold was in pain, but he’d hoped that the older man would at least participate in this evenings activities. Leon sensed the distress, easily slipping closer to the billionaire and snatching up a pillow, resting it under Finch’s bad leg. “Here let me…” He trailed off, pushing lightly against Finch’s back and forcing the man up until he was resting comfortably on his knees, the pain dulled by the pillow and Leon’s fingers. The smaller man almost guided Finch forward, purring encouragement next to his ear and let his fingers gently drum against the scarred skin on his hip.

Fusco made a muffled sound when he finally felt Harold’s length enter, pushing back greedily and making a curse tumble from the recluse’s lips, frame shaking. Leon sank back into the darkness, letting them have a couple moments of a steady rhythm until he made his move again. The detective simply rested on his knees and elbows, fingers gripping at the sheet while Finch moved surprisingly steady and hard into him, wrenching stifled cries from the back of his throat. Harold’s hand where warm and supportive, spread out against his back while he moved quickly, managing to bed over and rest his forehead on the detectives back. Lionel had almost forgotten about Leon, overwhelmed by the rapidly growing pleasure building from Finch’s quick work, but a sudden wet feeling around his cock made him jump and yelp into the gag. Leon’s hands trailed up his chest, wiggling up under his body and putting his mouth to good use for once, and Fusco’s vision was blurring with the intensity.


	7. Abuse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note, that this fic contains emotionally/physical and over all domestic abuse between Reese and Finch, if you are against this, then please move on to the next chapter once available.

Reese wishes he could stop them, all the hate people carry within them. Festering like a sore, burning in their lungs like a cold, choking them like water. He wishes Harold and the Machine could do more, even though how hard it seems, he wants the recluse to _help_. Or maybe he just wants Harold’s help? John didn’t know which was worse, pacing here in circles or running himself ragged on the streets, chasing dead ends, making funeral arrangements. So he takes it out on Finch, emotionally at first.

“He’s dead.” Reese hears a sharp breath on the other line as he circles the body of Mr. Boon, shaking his head. “Way to go Finch, it shouldn’t be _that_ hard to find a hotel number.” Silence is all that follows, but he can practically feel Harold’s heart clench, the tears forming around the edges of blue eyes. And that makes him feel better, in a sick little way, it gives him pride. Knowing he could hurt the billionaire with such simple words, crush his hope swiftly. So he keeps doing it, every chance he’s given, wearing Finch down into a state of silence at the library.

One day, he takes it too far. Stomping up the safe houses stairs and slamming the door, fixing his shaking lover with a glare. “Another one, Harold. Another one!” He shouts, tossing his coat on the table and flinging his gun there as well, the clunk of metal ringing in their ears. Bear whines and hides under the table, curling up until this storm passes. Finch takes a step back, finger clenching, his mouth opening but no words ever come out. “It’s unacceptable! You have the power of the world’s greatest Machine in your hands and yet you – you!” He stutters to a stop, watching Harold shiver in fear, opening his mouth in the Machines defense. The hit makes Finch step back onto his bad leg, crumpling to the ground at John’s feet, a yelp of pain echoing in the department. Bear shots under the table, barking furiously and rushing circles around the two men, to confused to act. At first, Reese just stares, lowering his fist and watching Harold tremble on the floor, hands holding him up awkwardly while his lower body is sprawled out on the cold linoleum. Then when Harold dares to look up, tears finally spilling from his elegant gaze after all these weeks, Reese acts on it. “Oh, god… Harold, I-I’m so sorry.” The operative whispers, pulling Finch into his arms even as the recluse sobs and tries pushing away.  “I’m sorry,” He repeats, brushing the words over the shell of Finch’s ear, cradling the back of his head and rocking them slowly. Harold cries and struggles, writhing around in Johns iron grip until he gives up, his resolve snapping as he just lays there. Reese runs soothing strokes up and down the older man’s flanks, whispering the same apology over and over. But he can feel another swell of pride; he can not only hurt Finch, but _comfort_ him.


	8. Valentine’s Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Going for the obvious: Reese/Finch & Valentine’s Day.

Reese was up extra early today, carefully ironing out his suit and polishing the ash tattered boots. Today was special, as it was for a great deal of people, even for the reclusive genius and the struggling ex-op. He’d thought about buying a gift for a long while, sneaking away from his duties to do a few moments of window shopping.

It had all lead up to today; John thinks as he strides up the long set of stairs. Theres a small boutique of flowers under his arm, and a cup of Sencha green tea cradled into his palm. “Finch?” He calls, turning the corner to come upon his boss laid back in the chair and rubbing at his wounded hip. The recluse turned to greet John, and the taller man found himself smiling at the choice of wardrobe today. A light pink shirt, dark purple pants and his black jacket, all tied together with a tie that matched the color of his slacks.

“Good morning, Mister Reese.” He mumbled standing and hobbling toward his employee to fetch the tea offering. His eyes landed on the flowers and Reese fidgeted under the soft scrutiny. “Wonderful,” He whispered, pulling John down into a deep kiss, much to the enjoyment of the taller. “ _Happy valentine’s day, John_.” Harold mumbled against John’s lips, and it took all Reese’s mental abilities not to shove Finch against the bookshelves. But he figured the little gift tucked into his back pocket would result in that exact urge later. It _was_ the day of love, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting all the old POI prompts here now.  
> And filling in the ones that are ten thousand years old and dusty in my inbox.


	9. Burns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mini story prompt-reese gets heatstroke/badly sunburnt, finch takes care of him yes!!!!!

Finch tries _very hard_ not to laugh; because he is eighty percent sure that Reese would slap him and storm out. But it’s a funny image, John sitting shirtless in the large library bathroom, hunched over on a toilet with his pants still pulled up and the jacket draped over the sink.

                “Here we are, Mister Reese.” The genius carefully mumbles, lip bit tight between his teeth as he sets the worrying large medical kit on top of the pristine sink. Stormy eyes follow his every move, and John grumbles unhappily, bunching the material of his slacks when Finch presses a creamy white ointment to the burning wounds.

                His skin looks like the desert, cracked and flaking. Which is actually pretty disgusting, but Harold doesn’t seem to mind. “You know… next time you two decide to go for a little cruise on the lake, you should _both_ take an umbrella.” Harold’s voice cracks, and Shaw losses it in the doorway. John’s not impressed with their laughter, but he can’t help it and smiles anyways. “I’m sorry,” Finch amends, pressing a chaste kiss the burnt shell of Reese’s ear, “But John, you really should know better.”


End file.
